


Personality Issues

by evenstar9



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Watts explains why he is the way he is (kinda), Whump, and I get the excuse to whump him because I want to, pls I need more Watts fics, this is a cry for help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenstar9/pseuds/evenstar9
Summary: Detective Watts’ strange behavior has caught the eye of our favorite ex-psychiatrist, Dr. Julia Ogden. She is caught by surprise, however, when his fears from the past show themselves to be warranted.ON HIATUS - until I get my inspiration back :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There’s very little Watts whump, and Watts fic in general, in existence, and I’ve been really craving some new content for my favorite detective recently. I’m not sure how long the fic will be, I have most of the plot already figured out, but it’s mostly unwritten as of yet. We’ll see where the inspiration takes me!
> 
> This fic takes place after Season 12, so I can’t guarantee that there won’t be spoilers for everything up to that point.

“Detective Watts, it’s good to see you back!” 

The man looked up with a start to see Dr. Ogden approaching him, with a lunch basket in hand. He turned where he was perched on George’s desk, propping his feet up on the seat of the absent constable’s chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry to startle you,” she added.

He smiled with a slight shake of his head. “It’s no matter. And I must thank you for your encouragement, Doctor,” he replied honestly. “I must admit I was initially loathe to return to work, but I find myself increasingly glad that I did.”

She smiled amiably. “In difficult times often the thing that brings the most solace is to continue to do good work. In our professions, especially.”

He nodded, then returned his attention to a pencil he was sharpening. After a moment, he looked up again to see the doctor still before him, looking thoughtful. “Can I... help you, Doctor?”

She glanced up at him at the request, having been lost in thought. After visibly deliberating for a moment, she seemed to make a decision. “I actually had a question for you, Detective, of a more personal nature. If you have a moment?”

He furrowed his brow, but dropped the pencil onto the desk behind him with a nod. He braced his arms on his knees and looked up at her attentively. “Mm?”

She took a breath, shifting the basket from one hand to the other. “This may seem like an odd question, but I was thinking back recently over the events of last year, when William was accused of that young woman’s murder. Do you remember when I found you, after I escaped my kidnappers?”

His eyes warmed slightly at the recollection. “I do. It was quite the surprise.”

“So it seemed! As I recall, when I touched your shoulder, you rounded on me and would have struck had you not recognized me. I seem to have a knack for inadvertently alarming you,” she noted.

“Ah.” He looked regretful. “It seems I must apologize for my hasty reaction. Your disguise was... quite effective, and I was taken somewhat off guard.”

“No need to apologize,” she amended hastily, “I wasn’t offended in the slightest. But I was curious- you seemed so ready to defend yourself. Who, or what, were you afraid I might be?”

The crease in his forehead deepened. “I’m sorry?”  
He seemed genuinely confused by the query.

“Forgive me for prying,” she said, “it’s just that I used to be a psychiatrist, and I worked with many patients who had similar reactions to stimulants that reminded them of difficult events or of fears they harbored. I suppose I wanted to make myself available, should you ever wish to talk.”

He seemed to take this in slowly, after a moment raising his eyes to hers. “Those in our profession must always be on their guard, Doctor. I was simply being cautious.”

She smiled courteously. “Of course. My apologies for presuming. Have a lovely afternoon, Detective,” she answered, and then turned to enter her husband’s office. 

He picked up his pencil again, but didn’t resume sharpening it. With its point twirling in his fingers, he remained lost in thought until Constable Crabtree returned to claim his desk.

•~•

Inside the office, Julia quietly closed the door. Detective Murdoch looked up, glanced at the door, and then looked questioningly at his wife. 

“William,” she began, distractedly setting the basket of food on the table, “do you ever worry about Detective Watts?”

He spared a look at the young man in question, absently fiddling with his pencil and chatting with George.

“Well, he is quite a strange fellow. But no, I wouldn’t say I worry about him.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you concerned about the man?”

Julia shook herself slightly and crossed to stand in front of her husband’s desk. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m concerned, it’s just... does he ever seem nervous to you? Anxious, perhaps?”

The detective considered. “I suppose he could appear that way, but I have no cause to believe it’s a serious problem.”

“I just have to wonder, sometimes. People who are overly cautious or defensive often have reason to be, and we know relatively little about his past, am I correct?”

William put down the notes he had been poring over and gave his full attention to the doctor. “Are you implying that you find the detective suspicious?”

She laughed. “No! No, I believe Detective Watts is well-intentioned, trustworthy, and a good man. He’s proven his worth to us many times. I’m more worried on his behalf. What if he is afraid of something? Or something happened to him in the past that still affects him?”

Her husband sighed softly. “Julia, I’m not sure that his behavior is enough to warrant such concern. Of course he is slightly peculiar, but he’s been that way as long as we’ve known him. I see no reason for worry.”

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “That’s just my point, William. People are often unfriendly to those they find ‘peculiar’. You and I know that first hand. And if we’ve experienced it,” she continued, looking out of the office to the animated young man in the bullpen, “what must he have experienced?”


	2. Chapter 2

Four days later, Julia was at her desk in the closet at the hospital, typing up some notes. 

Inexplicably, the closet was still an undisturbed hideaway from the bustle of the wards, and Ruth had given no indication that she wanted any of the furnishings returned, so Julia decided that it might as well serve as her de facto office for a time. She was busy unsticking a particularly troublesome key on her typewriter when there was a knock on the door. The knock was rapidly followed by the entrance of Detective Watts. His hat was held between both hands, and his expression was unusually hesitant. She smiled.  
“Detective! What a surprise! However did you find me?”

He gestured vaguely behind him. “Nurse Newsome said you use this closet as an office,” he answered, sounding curious. “I can see the advantages. Pleasant light, hard to find- I must see if there is an unoccupied closet at the stationhouse that I might commandeer.”

She chuckled. “The Inspector might not take kindly to that idea, I’m afraid.”

He nodded gruffly. “Yes, quite.”

There was a pause. Julia tapped the other chair invitingly, and he smiled. Dropping his hat on her desk, he stepped fully into the closet and closed the door behind him.

She raised an eyebrow. 

Oblivious to the potential improprieties, he sat down. “I won’t take up much of your time, Doctor Ogden, but I felt I ought to speak to you regarding our conversation the other day.”

“Oh, yes?” she asked, already interested.

“You asked why I seemed so concerned when you took me by the shoulder, and I admit the question surprised me. Do you happen to know the details of my... departure from Station House 1?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she answered, “William mentioned personality conflicts?”

“Indeed. That was the main reason, and by far the easiest to explain: many of the constables disliked me, and in most cases I returned them the favor.”

“I see,” Julia replied neutrally, unsure if she should express sympathy or react at all.

He pressed on, oblivious to her dilemma. “The other reason for my departure, that I am rather less inclined to publicize, involves a case I was working on within the months before my relocation.”

“Detective Watts, if you’d rather not-“

He waved a hand. “The truth must out, Doctor, and it could find worse audiences than a kind colleague.”

She smiled, taken aback by the abruptly delivered compliment, when he continued.

“The case placed me in a dangerous position at odds with a powerful ring of criminals- they knew I was onto them and made sure I was aware of the danger I was in. To my frustration, I could never obtain enough evidence to warrant an arrest, much less a conviction.”

“Surely they were charged for threatening you?”

He shook his head. “I was never so lucky. The threats always came in the form of notes, anonymous but of obvious provenance. Regardless, I began to sense that I was in more danger than I thought. I signed out a firearm from the Station House 1 armory, and carried it regularly.”

“And that wasn’t enough?”

“You are, as usual, correct. I was ambushed one evening on my way to my boarding house, unable to withdraw my weapon in time. They quickly discovered the gun, but for reasons unfathomable neglected to shoot me. They did, however, beat me quite savagely, and when they left me behind I am convinced they believed I was dead. Or close to it, at least.” His voice had grown softer as he relayed the last part, and his eyes were focused on the far wall. His expression was more open than Julia was accustomed to, and not a little tinged with fear. 

“You transferred Station Houses after that?” Julia questioned carefully, noting from his distanced tone that he probably wouldn’t appreciate expressions of empathy.

“Mm. Yes. In fact I never returned to Station House 1, except to collect my things and give my notice. I found I couldn’t bring myself to continue my work there. The men who were after me, when they found out about my departure, must have assumed they had scared me off.”

Julia nodded. “But even so, it’s hard not to be cautious after an event like that. Our instincts rarely fully recover.”

He sighed. “So I have found.” He looked earnestly up into Julia’s eyes for the first time since he had started talking. “I thank you for your willing ear, Doctor.”

She dared to extend a hand and touch his shoulder briefly. “Anytime, Detective. I’m glad you saw fit to tell me. And I encourage you, if you feel you can, to inform the Inspector and my husband of the facts of the situation. In the unlikely case that those men happen to discover your whereabouts, I’m sure they’d be glad to assist.”

He pressed his lips together in a resigned smile. “I’m not sure I’d like to feed the Beast Paranoia, but I thank you all the same. Now, I have a sudden desire for a German soft pretzel. Have you tried one, Doctor?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

He stood, gathering his hat from the desk. “Well, you shall need to remedy that sometime. I confess I myself have developed quite a weakness in their regard.” With a nod, he opened the door and turned out of the closet, leaving Julia with a puzzled expression and much to think over.

 

•~•

 

It only took a day for him to disappear. Watts failed to show up for work the next day, and while that would usually seem normal, his absence continued the next morning, and Detective Murdoch frowned as his desk remained vacant. It was during the lunch hour that the Inspector rapped on his office door.  
“Murdoch.”

“Sir?”

“Where’s bloody Watts?”

“I was just wondering the same thing, sir. It’s normal for him to miss a day, but he’s never been absent two days in a row before. Unless you count the whole debacle with John,” William amended.

“That aside, do you think we should be worried? Fellow seems to come and go as he pleases,” remarked the older man. 

Murdoch considered. “Normally, sir, I’d agree, but Julia said something the other day that makes me think there might be more to this. She spoke to him recently, I’ll get her opinion.”

The inspector nodded and strolled back into his office as the detective picked up the phone. Once Julia was on the line, he quickly expressed his concerns. 

“William, I think you’re right to worry. I didn’t mention it earlier since I thought he’d tell you himself, but Detective Watts visited me in the hospital two days ago. I’ll come to the Station House right away- I think the inspector should hear this as well.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Julia arrived, the three convened in Brackenreid’s office. Julia carefully shut the door, then turned to the men who awaited her news.  
“Detective Watts came to me to explain some of the details of his departure from Station House 1. I mentioned that I thought he seemed nervous, if you’ll recall?” she asked, looking at her husband.  
William nodded.

“He explained that he was indeed somewhat nervous, and that it was a residual reaction from a rather bad attack he suffered at the hands of some criminals who had sought to stop him from divulging information about them. Luckily, they left him still breathing, and he was able to recover from the beating. But he left Station House 1 shortly after, hoping that a relocation would make him safer.”

“Poor bloke. Taking a beating will change a man. Trust me, I should know,” muttered the inspector. 

Murdoch looked thoughtful. “How come he never told any of us this?”

“I imagine the memories were rather painful. And secrecy in matters like these is often safer. It was easier to mention merely the personality issues and leave the rest behind.”

The detective nodded. “But you’re afraid that he wasn’t quite successful in that last part.”

“Do you think they caught up with him at last?” asked Brackenreid.

“I don’t know,” Julia answered honestly. “But I think he may have told me because he knew someone was onto him. What if he suspected, but didn’t have time to voice his concerns before they were realized?”

“And why now, after two years that he’s been with us?” continued Murdoch, pacing across the floor. “Did they only just find him?”

The inspector suddenly straightened. “I think the real question is where the good detective is now. For all we know, he’s already dead in an alley.”

“Inspector! I certainly hope not,” the doctor rebuked. “We must do all we can to find him, and quickly.”

Murdoch nodded. “I’ll alert the constables, and they’ll begin a search, put up posters. Julia, did he say anything more specific about the men in question?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she answered reluctantly. “All I know is that they sent him a number of threatening notes in the time leading up to the attack.”

William raised an eyebrow. “We’ll start there. It’s possible they may have sent him another note recently, which would have alerted him that he had been found, possibly prompting his visit to the hospital.”

“Search his desk,” the inspector offered. “As good a place to start as any.”

“I’ll let George handle that- I’ll head to Watts’ lodging to find out when he was last seen.” 

Murdoch picked up his hat, and opened the door. “Thank you for telling us, Julia. We’ll do everything we can to find him.”

“It’s never pleasant to lose one of our own,” added Brackenreid. “I hope to see him tripping about the place again soon.”

Julia smiled, kissed the detective goodbye, and exited the office as Murdoch left to relay his orders to the constables.

 

•~•

 

Watts’ lodging house was a simple affair, run by an elderly woman by the name of Mrs. Fitz who occupied her time by knowing everything about the affairs of her boarders. When Murdoch knocked on the door, she scanned him up and down with a critical eye as he introduced himself. Only once he explained his reason for coming did she open the door wide enough to let him through. She regarded him skeptically.

“Yes, I noticed that Llewellyn didn’t come in last night. Neither he nor anyone else has been in his rooms since yesterday morning, I assure you.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” William asked, taking off his hat when the lady beckoned for it. She hung it on a nearby hook as she answered.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She beckoned him into the parlor, and he obliged. When they had both taken their seats in the overly lacy room off the hall, he continued his questioning.

“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary recently?”

“Everything that young man does is out of the ordinary, Detective. But I can’t say that anything has struck me as particularly strange as of late... unless you mean that constable who stopped by?”  
William raised an eyebrow. “What constable, Mrs. Fitz?”

“He was tall, dark haired, in his middle years. Had a deep voice, rough-like. Said he was looking for Detective Watts, and to give him a note.”

“And?”

“Well I sent him off right away, I didn’t like the look of him. I did take his note though, and passed it on to young Llewellyn.”

The detective nodded. “And do you happen to know what the note said?”

The woman smirked, and rose from her seat on the sofa to go to a desk tucked into the far corner of the room. She opened the top drawer and withdrew a small slip of paper, that she presented to Murdoch with a proud flourish. 

“What do you take me for, Detective? Of course I know what it said. I wrote down the exact words here.”

Sometimes a prying landlady can be most useful, William supposed, taking the proffered note. He unfolded it and glanced over the contents, before standing. “Thank you, Ma’am. Now before I go, if I could have a look in Detective Watts’ rooms?”

With a conspiratorial look, she fetched the key and led him upstairs, chatting as she went.  
“What do you suppose happened to the lad? Did he run afoul of the law, is that why you’re after him, sending that constable and all? A criminal, in my house- do you think I’ll make the papers?”

He sighed, audibly this time. “I don’t suspect the detective of anything, Mrs. Fitz, and I didn’t have anything to do with that constable’s visit. In fact I’m concerned that that man may have something to do with Watts’ disappearance, which is why it is imperative that I continue my investigation.”

“Oh yes, of course, Detective Murdoch. I’ll do everything I can to help you, I’m sure.”

They arrived at Watts’ door, and entered into a small, sparse room that served as both living space and bedroom. There was a table with two chairs in the center of the floor, with a sideboard in the corner and a bed and nightstand on the far side under a window. A door to the right led to a small space that seemed to serve as a workspace and a closet. The whole space, though lacking in furnishings, was hardly lacking in clutter. Notebooks and papers covered the table, and a wide assortment of various scientific and philosophical books filled the shelves of the sideboard. Another pile of books, seeming to be mostly novels, appeared close to overflowing off of the nightstand. The bed looked hastily made, and Murdoch noted several items of clothing scattered around the space. Watts had certainly intended to be back. A half-drunk bottle of wine was nestled into the papers on the table, and next to it was an unfolded copy of the Toronto Telegraph, a day old.

Mrs. Fitz surveyed the room, frowning. “I hope you find him, Detective. I don’t fancy tidying this lot up myself.”

Murdoch glanced sideways at her, choosing to ignore the comment. He approached the table, and looked over the paper Watts had been reading. It was open to an article about a recent case that had been handled by Station House 1, in which a wealthy businessman seemingly guilty of the murder of his maid, a Miss McCann, had been exonerated. A confession had been extracted, surprisingly, from another member of the household’s staff, in which a second maid admitted to killing Miss McCann out of jealousy for her favored position. Their employer, Mr. Fairchild, was cleared of all charges after the confession, and released a statement to the Telegraph thanking Station House 1 “for their fine service to an innocent and upstanding citizen of Toronto.”  
William skimmed the account and frowned, quickly folding the paper and tucking it under his arm. Stuffing the note in his pocket, he gave the room a final scan before turning back to the impatient landlady.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Fitz. I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”

The woman nodded. “You do just that, Detective. I’ll be watching for any suspicious activity.” She patted his arm.

He smiled awkwardly and excused himself, returning back down the stairs and out the door to his waiting bicycle. He needed to show the Inspector what he had found. If George had come up with anything from Watts’ desk, they might be well on their way to finding the missing man.


	4. Chapter 4

Watts’ desk, as expected, yielded several notes in the same hand as the one Murdoch obtained from the landlady. George obligingly laid out the notes over Murdoch’s work table, and the detective added his to the collection. _This is your last warning. Bring the girl to the same place where we last met._ Come alone.

“Sir, do you think Detective Watts was involved in something underhanded?”

“I highly doubt it, George. It’s just as likely that he knew something inconvenient and was being threatened for it. But who is the girl?”

Crabtree looked thoughtfully at the notes, most of which bore similar contents. _Tread carefully, or be mindful of the consequences,_ read one. _If you continue to pry, we will have no choice but to take drastic action. I trust you are familiar with the results,_ read another.

“The writer mentions a ‘we,’ but writes in the singular first person,” William observed, pointing to the inconsistency.

“Perhaps one party as a representative of a larger organization?” George posited.

Murdoch nodded. “I believe so. And I believe this all ties back to Station House 1. George, do you know of any constable from there who is middle-aged, tall, dark-haired, perhaps a bit rough around the edges?”

The constable shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not sure off the top of my head, but I’d be glad to go find your man for you.”

“Yes, George, thank you. If you find the man who matches the description, bring him in. We need to know what he was doing at Watts’ lodging the other night.”

As George left the office, Inspector Brackenreid appeared at the door. “Any news, Murdoch?”

William nodded grimly. “Yes, sir. I believe that Station House 1 may be involved in Watts’ disappearance.”

“Oh, bloody hell. Not them again.”

“Indeed, sir. A constable left a threatening note for Watts just the other day, and he was looking into one of their cases, if I’m right.” Brackenreid frowned.

“Bugger needs to stop looking for trouble by poking his head into things that don’t concern him. I told him not to, and yet look what happened to John. And now him? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Sir, that may be, but I do believe he was on to something. Don’t forget that his investigation into Lucille Palmer’s murder brought many important things to light.”

The Inspector looked begrudging. “I didn’t say I thought he was wrong. Just stupid. I can see why he left Station House 1, given how inept they are. No wonder he likes to check up on ‘em.”

“I wonder...” began the detective.

Brackenreid looked at him expectantly.

“Well, sir, I’m wondering if it’s not just ineptitude, but corruption. Maybe McWorthy’s death didn’t root out the source of the problem.”

“What are you saying?”

“What if Watts was onto them, and they wanted to deal with the liability?”

The Inspector shook his head. “But he said he was threatened by a gang of criminals, and that’s why he left the Station House. Unless you think this is different?”

William considered. “What if he was lying? What if the threat wasn’t criminals outside the Station House, but inside it?” He paused, thoughtful. “We can’t know for certain yet. But when we find Watts, he has a lot of explaining to do.”

Brackenreid, to William’s relief, let the ‘if we find him’ go unsaid.


	5. Chapter 5

George returned later that afternoon, noticeably without a certain dark-haired constable. “There was no such man there, sirs. I asked a few of the men but they said they’d never met a constable that met that description.”

George, William, Julia, and the inspector stood around the table in Murdoch’s office. At George’s words, William frowned.

“I suppose Mrs. Fitz didn’t specify which Station House the constable was from. Perhaps I was too quick to blame Station House 1. Unless constables from more than one station-”

“Watts didn’t mention anything involving his fellow officers of the law,” Julia pointed out, confused. “Except that some of the men at his previous Station House disliked him and that the feeling was mutual.”

“Murdoch has a theory,” explained the inspector. To Murdoch, he continued, “He’d complained about their failings before, but that’s no reason for them to attack him. You’re awfully quick to pin this as a conspiracy. Perhaps the doctor is right.”

William shook his head. “I know that Watts described his assailants as criminals, and not constables. But what if they were both? I know that Station House 1 has to be involved somehow. Otherwise why would Watts have been looking into one of their cases immediately prior to his disappearance?”

“Sir, it could be a coincidence. Perhaps the two are unrelated,” offered George. Murdoch remained silent, staring intently at the notes spread over the worktable.

“I highly doubt that, George. There’s something wrong here, and I intend to find out what.”

There was a pause, but then George’s eyes lit up. He pointed to the newspaper article that Watts had been reading, laid out next to the notes. “Sir! I didn’t think it was important before, but that maid- the one who killed Miss McCann. Miss Dunley, I believe. She escaped.”

“What?”

“She escaped, sir. But there was no sign that she forced her way out of her cell. Apparently they think someone snuck in to release her- everyone at Station House One was talking about it, wondering if it was one of her friends. Apparently the guard on duty had had a bit too much to drink and didn’t remember anything.”

“Now that’s interesting... when did she escape, exactly?”

“Two days ago.”

“The day before Watts vanished. What if he’s the one who released her? He’s bribed his way into the cells there before. Was it Constable Robinson on duty that day?”

George nodded. “Sir, the very same.”

“Robinson is the constable Watts bribed last time, with your scotch, sir,” William said, looking at   
Brackenreid.

“So Watts lets this girl go, why, we don’t know, and then what? The coppers at Station House One get their revenge?”

“What if Miss Dunley is innocent? The case certainly seemed odd, and it looks like Watts thought the same,” observed Julia, and Murdoch nodded. 

“Watts knew the confession was false. Perhaps he didn’t have the evidence to prove it, and took matters into his own hands?”

The inspector sighed. “It seems I’m cursed with detectives who like to bend the law to suit their conscience.”

Julia gave him a smile. “And would you have it any other way, Inspector?”

The man took a drink of the scotch he was nursing. “Don’t tempt me, Doctor,” he answered, but his eyes twinkled.

“We still don’t know where the detective is, though, sirs,” noted George, returning to the matter at hand. William nodded.

“That’s the next step. George, go back to-“

They were interrupted by Constable Higgins, who opened the door without preamble, his face pale. 

“Sirs, Doctor. A body’s been found down by the docks. I’m sorry to say, but-”

“No,” breathed Julia, and Henry nodded. 

“It’s Detective Watts.”


	6. Chapter 6

Without a word, Murdoch ran for his bicycle. George followed behind, grabbing Watts’ bicycle, assuming that given the situation the detective wouldn’t have minded. William turned to look at the inspector, who waved him on. 

“We’ll take a cab and be there in a jiffy. You two get there as fast as you can.” Julia, behind Brackenreid, nodded her agreement, and the other men started peddling furiously to the address Higgins had given. 

When they arrived, it was to a small alley between two large warehouses, both backed up to the waterfront. The alley was filled with crates and burlap sacks, and was suspiciously empty. 

“That’s odd. No one remained to guard the crime scene?” George pointed out, as he gingerly dismounted and ventured forward.

William frowned. “Indeed, that’s very odd. George, are we sure this is the right address?”

“Sir.”

Murdoch turned to see George staring at something hidden behind two large boxes. When he moved closer, he saw two familiar boots, and soon Watts was fully in view. He was sprawled at an odd angle in a heap of half-spilled grain sacks, now turned crimson. He wore only his undershirt and pants, and much of what was visible of him was bloodied and bruised- William noticed that his shirt was soaked in red and torn in numerous places around his abdomen. His hands were handcuffed behind him, and his wrists were raw, suggesting that he’d struggled against his restraints. His face, under the swelling and bleeding, was pale. There were no obvious wounds to suggest stabbing, strangulation, or a gunshot- he must have been beaten to death. 

Murdoch crossed himself.

In the time that William had been making his initial judgements, George had bent down to look closer at Watts’ face. Blood was smeared under his nose, across his lips, and over his forehead from his hairline- he’d taken quite the beating. While much of the blood was dried, some still tricked down from what looked like a recent head wound. George reached out a hesitant hand to the detective’s neck, knowing it was mere wishful thinking. The bleeding most likely merely indicated that he’d died recently, not that-

“Sir!”

“George?”

“Sir, he’s still alive.”

“What?” William dropped next to George’s side. “He can’t be, that’s impossible.” He grabbed Watts’ wrist, feeling over it frantically. 

There was a soft pulse.

“My God. George, get an ambulance. Now!”

The constable sprung from his spot and dashed out of the alley as fast as his legs could carry him.  
“Watts! Watts, can you hear me? You’re going to be alright.” Murdoch patted the man’s face, and was rewarded with a quick flutter of the unconscious man’s eyelids.

As he bent over the other detective, his wife came flying around the corner to Watts’ side, closely followed by Inspector Brackenreid. “William?” she questioned breathlessly as she reached him.

“Julia, Sir! He’s alive!”

In an instant the doctor was leaning over her patient, checking him over.

“George went to get an ambulance,” explained Murdoch quickly, and Julia glanced up. 

“Good. We haven’t much time. There may be internal bleeding.” She noticed the handcuffs, and saw William also looking at them. She reached up and removed a pin from her twisted hair, handing it to the detective. “Pick the lock, if you can. Right now we just have to keep him still and breathing until the ambulance arrives.”

William raised an eyebrow, but complied. He struggled for a moment with the handcuffs, but had no luck, looking up to see George running back around the corner, nearly bumping into the inspector.

“Sir. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.” He noticed Murdoch’s efforts, and crouched down, taking the pin from the other man’s hands. “Let me, sir.” In a moment, he had the cuffs off, and he tucked them into his belt as he stood to keep watch for the ambulance. 

“Thank you, George. Now what’s next?” William looked to Julia for guidance, and she put on an authoritative tone. 

“Let’s make sure he’s comfortable.”

Together, they managed to straighten Watts’ legs and arms from where he’d fallen, and lie him down more gently against the burlap. Once that was done, the long part of the wait began.

 

•~•

 

In reality, it was only about ten minutes before the ambulance pulled up outside the alley and they were able to gently load Watts’ unmoving form into the back. In Julia’s mind, though, it felt like hours. Now that she was finally able to relax, seated by his bedside in the hospital, she felt the adrenaline rapidly draining from her system. She was grateful for it- it had pulled her through an interminable ambulance ride and a long, painful examination of the man’s injuries.

He had two broken ribs, a broken nose, and a nasty head wound that would likely leave him concussed. Mercifully, everything else seemed intact, and the rest of his wounds were superficial. He’d be bruised and swollen, but likely regain his full health. From what she could gather, it looked like he’d been restrained and intermittently beaten over the course of the few days he’d been missing. Though he sported a large number of various injuries, none of them were extremely severe, suggesting that his captors didn’t intend to kill him, but perhaps we’re attempting to extract information. Why he’d been left still breathing in an alleyway, an obvious liability, was a mystery.

“Why was he reported as a body, Julia?” asked William, seated next to her and looking thoughtful. “And why was there no constable present when we arrived? It doesn’t make sense.”

Julia shook her head. “I’ve no idea, William. Nothing about this adds up.”

Her husband rested his head on his hand, leaning sideways in his chair. “You said none of his injuries were bad enough that they would have proved lethal, correct?” 

“Despite how bad he looked when we found him, yes.”

“So the intention couldn’t have been to beat him to death and leave him. Killing him would have taken more than that. And they’d made the same mistake before, surely they wouldn’t again.”

“It does seem strange that his captors would allow for us to find him. Surely they know that will lead us right to them?”

“I suspect we’ll only know the full story once he comes to,” Murdoch observed, gesturing at the pale man in the hospital bed. 

“It shouldn’t be long now,” said Julia, her bedside tone coming through. “But we mustn’t push him too much too quickly.”

“He may have lied about his attackers and released a convicted murderer from jail,” replied the detective, and Julia smirked.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” she retorted, then glanced up to see Constable Crabtree at the door.

Announcing himself with a casual knock on the doorframe, George approached the couple. “Sir, I’ve gotten the information you requested. The constable who reported the murder was Constable Bauder, our friend who altered the evidence on John’s case.”

“Very good, George. That’s interesting. Where did he go after he reported the body? And why didn’t he check if Watts was still breathing?”

“That I don’t know, sir. Bauder hasn’t been heard of since he made the call.”

“Does that seem odd to you?” Murdoch asked, sharing a look with Julia.

George nodded. “It certainly does, sir. I’ll do what I can to find him.”

“Thank you, George,” answered William, and Julia smiled up at the younger man. 

George turned to leave, but hesitated, glancing back at the unconscious occupant of the hospital bed. “Do let me know if he wakes up alright, won’t you?” he asked, more to Julia than Murdoch.

She nodded firmly, eyes softening. “Of course.”

The constable replaced his helmet, and returned back down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

When Watts awoke, William had just left to fetch tea, and Julia was engrossed in a novel. There was a soft gasp from the bed, and she looked over the top of her pages to see the young man’s eyes open, and his expression confused.

“Detective Watts, you’re safe,” she started, laying the book aside.

His eyes found hers, hesitating a moment before slowly focusing on her.  
“Doctor... Ogden,” he managed hoarsely, and she hurried to lift a glass of water to his lips. He took a sip, and then relaxed against his pillow again, looking relieved. He glanced around the room, and as he did so his face grew more cautious.

“Don’t strain yourself. Relax. You’re safe here at the hospital.”

He looked back to her, and after a moment, nodded.

“How did you find me?” he asked in a low voice.

“We didn’t. We heard a report of a body, and it turned out to be you. A long way from a stay in the morgue, as well, despite the report,” she added, seeing his brow furrow at the word ‘body’.

“May I... ask how serious my injuries are?”

She listed them off clinically, and reassured him that he’d make a full recovery. He accepted the information, and then seemed to have exhausted his resources, sagging back with dropping eyelids. Straightening his covers, Julia stood. “I’ll fetch the doctor and let him know you were awake. In the meantime, rest, Detective.”

He was already asleep.

 

•~•

 

The next day, he was carefully propped more upright on several pillows and dressed in a set of pyjamas instead of his initial hospital gown. Nurse Newsome had helped him eat a small breakfast, easing him into a regular diet after he’d eaten next to nothing in the past couple days. That he was mildly dehydrated and extremely hungry were all they’d learned from the man so far, as most of his time had been spent resting. Finally, once the eagerly attentive nurse had vacated Watts’ bedside, Detective Murdoch arrived to finish questioning him. Inspector Brackenreid tailed him into the room, and came to a halt at the end of Watts’ bed. 

Julia sat in a chair to Watts’ right, and William pulled up his previous seat across from her. Watts made an effort to sit up straighter, but groaned in pain at the movement. Murdoch put up a hand.

“There’s no need, Detective. Please, relax. This isn’t an interrogation, I just want to know more about these men so they may be caught quickly.”

Watts hesitated, then nodded. “This is somewhat of a different situation than the last time you questioned me, Murdoch,” he observed, “though not much more enjoyable.”

William allowed a faint smile. “Indeed. Are you feeling any better today?”

“As well as can be expected. What did you want to know?”

Murdoch paused. “Well, everything. Who was holding you, and why? Was it related to the previous attack you suffered?”

Watts cast a quick glance at Julia at the mention of his past beating, and she looked apologetic at having shared such personal information.

“I thought it best that they knew, Detective. I hope you don’t blame me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not at all, Doctor. Had I been given the chance, I would have come to the same conclusion.”

Murdoch nodded. “So these instances were related?”

Watts sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you now, seeing as the men already had their go at me. Yes, they’re related. It was the same men both times.”

“Who?”

Watts looked up and met Murdoch’s gaze. “The constables of Station House 1. I recognized most of them, I can give you names.” 

The inspector grunted, and William drew in a breath. “It’s as I suspected then. The corruption runs deeper than we thought,” observed the detective, glancing up at his superior.

Watts looked as though he was relieved to finally be free of the secret. “Almost every man in the Station House is dirty. It used to be under McWorthy’s care, but after he died, they’ve lacked any oversight at all. It’ll only get worse as they grow even more bold.”

“Kidnapping a detective wasn’t bold enough?” asked Julia, and Watts shook his head. 

“They are... determined, and ambitious. They want the rich men of Toronto under their thumbs.”

“Start at the beginning, Watts,” interjected Brackenreid. “Your first attack, what prompted it? How did you survive? That was before McWorthy’s days, so are we to assume this whole operation preceded him?”

“The previous inspector, the man who gave me my position as detective, had a soft spot for me. However, he was in charge of the money before McWorthy took over, and told his constables to put their boots and fists to me. I suspect that it’s due to his orders that the men didn’t... finish me off.”

“You’d been poking around, and he didn’t like it?” surmised Brackenreid. Watts nodded sharply, then winced in pain. Julia put a hand on his arm.

“Take it slowly, Detective.”

He looked at her gratefully, then looked up at his senior officers from under his furrowed brows.

“They found out that I was on their trail, yes. I was foolish, and didn’t have enough evidence to make my accusations stick. When I recovered, I went to the inspector with what I had, and he told me that I was clearly mistaken. He... implied that if I didn’t want a repeat of my experience that I should back off. When I told him that wasn’t likely, he summarily dismissed me.”

“That’s when you came to Station House 4?” questioned Julia, and he nodded, more softly this time.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Murdoch asked, and Watts looked at him with a raised eyebrow, as if it was obvious.  
“Last time I confronted my superior, it didn’t go well.”

“Surely you don’t think Station House 4 is home to dirty coppers?” Brackenreid exclaimed defensively, and Watts smiled thoughtfully.

“No, you have proven the integrity of your Station House many times, though often, I find, to the detriment of the rule of law.”

Murdoch and Julia raised twin eyebrows. Brackenreid looked offended, and was about to protest, when Watts lifted a placating hand with a grimace.

“Not that I can judge, of course, given my recent actions.”

“You released Miss Dunley,” William stated, with no hint of a question.

“I did,” answered Watts, seemingly unashamed. “I felt I must... follow my conscience, and as she would certainly have faced the noose were I not to act...”

“You let a convicted murderer go. One who confessed to the crime!” 

“She is innocent, Detective. Many of my notes on the case were in my jacket, and therefore lost to us, but I managed to secure the murder weapon from the evidence lockers at Station House 1 the same night I released Miss Dunley.”

“And where is it now? How do we know it hasn’t been tampered with?” The senior detective’s tone was even, but his voice sounded hopeful. If they were able to prove the maid’s innocence, they might be able to drop the inevitable charge against Watts as well.

“It’s in Constable Crabtree’s desk. I thought my desk might be searched, and I wanted to ensure the gun’s safety.”

Murdoch nodded, and looked at Brackenreid. “Lets start there, sir. If we can make the case that the girl is innocent-“

The inspector nodded briskly. “This one,” he gestured at Watts, “might not have to be charged for releasing a murderer.”

Murdoch nodded, then looked at the younger man. “About the second attack- why now? Surely you determined that Station House 4 was upright long ago, why not tell us once you trusted us?”

“Ah. Well, I thought it best to keep the information close until I was entirely sure I could come forward safely, without endangering others.”

“And that time came when you figured out the McCann case.”

“Indeed it did. But the constables found out when I starting prying too deeply. I sealed my own fate when I let Miss Dunley free and stole the gun used to kill McCann.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath. “That’s why they took me. They wanted to know where she was, and where the gun was.” His voice grew quieter, and Julia squeezed his arm. 

“You’re safe, Llewellyn.”

Her husband glanced at her at the use of the man’s given name, but she was focused on her patient. Murdoch endeavored to look reassuringly at Watts as he continued. “In that case, I suppose I must ask another question-“

“I told them nothing,” Watts cut in. “I honestly don’t know where Miss Dunley is now, and I told them as much... as for the weapon, you already know where it is.” He stared at the bedcovers for a moment, and then continued. “One of the constables, Bauder, his name is, tired of interrogating me and suggested that I was of no use to them, merely a... loose end, as he put it. He’s the one who took me into the alley.” 

Another deep breath. The detective’s hand absently worried at his blanket.

“I assumed he was going to shoot me, and I don’t know why he didn’t. I was nearing unconsciousness at that time. The last thing I remember is hearing the shot go off and hit the burlap behind me.”

Murdoch’s brow creased. “So Bauder fakes killing you, leaves you unconscious, reports you as dead, and then vanishes? Why?”

Watts shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I wish I did, Detective. It makes one wonder...”

“Wonder what?” asked Julia, and he glanced at her distractedly.

“My mind rebels at the thought of coincidence. For me to have survived both attacks so improbably, then - the work of fate? Providence?” He waved his hand with as much animation as his injuries would allow.

The inspector rolled his eyes. “If you ask me, you’re just bloody lucky.” He put his hat on and hefted his walking stick. “Right then,” he said decidedly, “we’ll do some sniffing. We may be back later with more questions.”

“Of course,” the man murmured vacantly.

“And before we go, those names?” Murdoch added, and Watts startled, then listed off a number surnames that the older detective jotted down. The inspector tipped his hat to Julia, then turned to Watts.

“Get some rest,” he advised in a fatherly tone. “You’ve had an ordeal, and we’ll do everything we can to put the men responsible away for a good long while.”

The men departed, and Julia gave Watts a pat on the shoulder. “The inspector is right- you ought to get some rest. I’ll be back if there’s news, and Nurse Newsome will be here if you need anything. Are you alright?”

Watts inhaled. “Alright enough, I suppose. I’m simply glad to have my life.”

Julia stood and strode to the door, then turned back for a moment. Watts looked oddly small in the hospital bed, not unlike John Brackenreid when he had been in a similar position. She noticed that his black curls stood out even more than usual against his pale skin and white pillows, and his stillness was a contrast to the usual constant motion that was his custom. She‘d be glad to see him gadding about the Station House again, and she hoped this recent assault to his health and agency wouldn’t affect him too deeply.

“Should you ever not be alright, you know I’m always willing to talk,” she said, and his face warmed.

“Of course. I thank you, Doctor. Your care has been most adequate.”

She laughed, nodded, and rounded the corner down the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

Detective Watts got little sleep that night. His injuries, many and varied as they were, still pained him, and he groaned in frustration every time he attempted to roll over and was brought up short by the complaining of his ribs. Each time sleep tried to claim him, he started awake with dreams of flying fists. A nurse he didn’t recognize stopped into his room several times during the night. Each time, she listened to his breathing, adjusted his sheets, and admonished him uselessly that he ought to try to sleep. He didn’t.

Given his restless night, it was unsurprising that Watts was far from enthused to hear that he had a visitor the next morning. Nurse Newsome, having taken the early shift, announced the fact with far too much gusto than was necessary, and he grimaced at the unwelcome noise. He’d been placed in a room at the farthest end of the emptiest hall for the sake of privacy, and he relished the quiet.

“Nurse, I assure you,” he answered with a dismissive wave of his hand, “there is no one I could have a desire to see unless they bear news about the case at hand.”  
She smiled cheerily. “Oh, come now, Detective, don’t be such a miser!” She turned to someone just out of sight, and said, “he’s ready to see you.”

“I’m not-“ Watts started sharply, as his visitor entered the room. He fell silent, rather chagrined.

John Brackenreid, still on crutches but looking rather more spirited than last Watts saw him, rounded the corner. Newsome tittered and retreated. The young man smiled hesitantly at the detective, and came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Hello, Detective Watts. Are you well?”

Watts’ expression had softened at the young man’s entrance, but he frowned at the question. “I fear I am not,” he answered, and John cringed.

“Sorry. That’s not – that’s not what I meant. I came to see how you were doing, sir. You did the same for me, and I’m relatively familiar with this place now,” young Brackenreid offered, endeavoring to look cheerful.

Watts scanned the boy up and down, and he indeed seemed much the better for his most recent operation. “I am glad you are making a full recovery, Constable. I must again apologize for ever making such a recovery necessary.”

“It wasn’t your fault, sir. And indeed, you helped to save my life when Isabelle attacked me. Father said it was you who realized the confession was partially false.”  
The warmth crept back into Watt’s features. “It was the least I could do, John. But I thank you for your forgiveness all the same.”

There was a moment of silence, and then John wavered slightly on his crutches. “Would you mind if I sat down, sir? My legs are still getting their strength back.”

The bedridden detective waved weakly at the nearest chair. “Of course, Constable,” he replied in the most welcoming tone he could muster.

John sat gratefully, arranging his crutches against the edge of the bed. “Actually, sir, it’s not Constable anymore.”

Watts furrowed his brow. “Hmm?”

“I’ve decided to quit the Force. I enjoyed my time as a copper, but my real passion lies in acting.”

“Mm, yes, pretending again,” Watts replied thoughtfully, “a profession I confess I will never comprehend.” He looked suddenly up at the young man. “I hope my endangerment of you did not dissuade you from pursuing your career as a promising officer of the law.”

John shook his head. “Perhaps my injury played a part, sir, but I think I always knew I wasn’t destined to be a policeman.”

The detective nodded. “Strange how destinies can change…” he mused.

“Sir?” asked John, confusion written on his face.

“I always thought that I was destined to be a great detective, perhaps even inspector.”

“You are, sir! A great detective, that is,” John hastened to add. “Will it be long before you return to the Station House?”

Watts looked uncharacteristically recalcitrant. “I must admit the idea fills me with trepidation,” he mused. “I imagined leaving permanently after your injury but Doctor Ogden convinced me to remain at the Station House. I wonder now if I may have been right all along. If only the inspector had accepted my badge…”

“You know, Detective, speaking of my father,” John started boldly, “a few years back he was attacked by an Irish gang. He was in the hospital for three months, and we were all very scared.”

Watts looked at John with interest.

“When he got home, he wasn’t the same. He dedicated himself to painting, he never left home,” John continued.

“The quiet life,” Watts observed, and John pressed his lips together.

“He wasn’t happy, Detective. We all knew it, Mother and Bobby and I. Doctor Ogden even came by to talk to him.”

“Mm, that seems to be her way.”

“It wasn’t until he went back to being inspector and put the woman responsible for his attack behind bars that he seemed himself again. My father is meant to be a policeman, Detective, and pardon me sir but I believe you are too.”

“Well, John, I-“ Watts began, looking down at his sheets. He was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Nurse Newsome.

“Detective- Constable Brackenreid, how good to see you!”

“Actually, it’s-“ the young man tried, but he was overrun.

“There’s a man outside to see you, Detective, a constable from Station House 1. I thought I ought to let you know,” Ruth explained, gesturing animatedly towards the door. “I told him I’d have to see if you were willing to see visitors.” She looked at her patient earnestly.

Watts’ forehead creased. “There isn’t a man at that station who would care to check on my condition. Unless- it must be Constable Bauder. Let him come in, Nurse,” he instructed with a quick nod. John sputtered.

“Wait! That’s the other thing I came to tell you. When I told Father I was going to stop by today he said to tell you that Constable Bauder turned himself in to Station House 4 this morning, looking for protection from any men at Station 1 who might wish him harm after he… spared you.”

Watts looked from the young man, swaying anxiously on his crutches, to the waiting, wide-eyed Newsome. “Then who is in the hall?” he wondered for all of them. 

The nurse opened her mouth, about to respond, when she was unceremoniously shoved aside by the entrance of three burly men in uniform. The one in the center, who seemed to be the leader of the pack, scanned the room and raised his eyebrow when he spotted John. One of the others looked to the leader with a question in his eyes.

“You didn’t say anything about an injured kid and a lady nurse,” he said, and the leader grunted.

“Well it’s a shame they had to be here.”

Watts sized up the intruders, tucking his chin into his chest as he surveyed them. “Constable Barclay. Jamison, Richards. This is an… unpleasant surprise.” He’d had no desire to see them again after their most recent encounter in that warehouse, when he’d been cuffed to the wall and they’d come at him swinging. He fought the urge to cower.

His nurse apparently had no such urge. Ruth straightened her apron and marched in front of the men. “I really must insist you leave,” she chided with an air of personal offense, “you’re not allowed to be in here. You’re disturbing the patient!”

The man that Watts remembered to be Richards laughed, an abrasive sound. “Oh, we’ll be disturbing him alright. Move aside, lady.”

She gasped and leveled a stern look on the man. “I will not.”

“Mrs. Newsome-“ Watts started from behind her, but as he spoke Richards grabbed the nurse, spun her around in his arms and held her tight with a hand over her mouth. The loud muffled protests indicated her intense dislike of the arrangement, but the men paid no mind.

Richards procured a pocketknife from his jacket, and held it to the squirming nurse’s throat. Sending a warning glance around the room, he proclaimed, “If anyone makes a noise, I’ll use this.” Ruth’s struggles ceased.

Jamison turned to John. “Now, young man, are you going to give us any trouble? I must admit, I didn’t expect this loony to be so popular.”

John gaped in indignation, taking an angry step towards the man, crutches thumping on the floorboards. Before he got farther, Watts raised a hand and shook his head. “John. Don’t. I will not have you hurt again on my account.” He tried and failed to sit up straighter in the bed.

John stared from Watts to the menacing constable, and the dismissive way the man regarded John’s mentor. He made a decision, stepped forward, and brought one of his crutches down hard on the man’s foot. The man shouted in pain, and with a quick shove, sent John to the floor before he could regain his balance. Ruth struggled against Richards’ hands across the room as John groaned in pain at the impact. John made a feeble attempt to right himself, but a light kick from the seething Jamison kept him still.

“John!” Watts cried out, and then looked up at the young man’s assailant with anger. “I swear you’ll pay for hurting him.”

Constable Barclay laughed. “You sure aren't going to make us, you snitch.” He withdrew his nightstick from his belt, tapping it against his leg as he walked around Watts’ bed. “You thought you’d get away with telling your precious new station about us?”

The detective shifted in the bed, looking at the man with wide eyes. In the shadow of the much larger Barclay, he suddenly looked even younger than his twenty-nine years. The constable chuckled. “I’ll give you one more chance, Detective,” he said, uttering the title like it was a dirty word. “Where’s the girl? And where’d you stash the gun?”

Watts took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you where she is,” he answered lowly, “I don’t know where she went. She didn’t tell me.”

“And the gun?” the man barked.

Watts swallowed and shook his head. The constable grinned, smacking his club in the palm of his hand with relish. In the moment before he lunged, Watts lurched sideways. He managed to slip under the man’s arm, rolling out of the bed with a painful thud. Turning onto his back, he inched towards the corner on his elbows, breathing hard. He’d overestimated the amount of physical exertion he could take with multiple broken ribs, not to mention his other injuries. Barclay approached slowly, knowing he had the advantage and that he was in no danger of losing it. 

The constable reached down with a beefy arm, took hold of the collar of Watts’ pajamas, and hoisted him up against the wall. The detective gasped for air, nearly shaking with the pain in his ribs and shoulder. 

“I won’t,” he panted, “tell you anything. And if you kill me now, you’ve got two witnesses who will attest to your guilt.”

Barclay looked over his shoulder at the two witnesses in question, both watching the scene unfold helplessly. He returned his focus to the young man in front of him, and looked almost regretful. “I didn’t want to have to commit three murders, today, but then you always did like foiling my plans.”

“You can’t!” Watts breathed urgently, slightly panicked. “You’ll never get away with it in a crowded hospital!” His eyes darted over Barclay’s shoulder for a moment, and he saw Jamison coming to stand behind his leader, eyes off of John for a moment. Watts prayed John would take his chance, and resolved to prolong it as much as he could. At the moment, both other constables were watching his exchange with Barclay, even Richards with Nurse Newsome still in his arms. He let himself smile, and tried to make it as taunting as he could. “Besides, if you kill me, you’ll really have no chance at finding Miss Dunley.”

Barclay shook him, and he wheezed in pain. “You said you didn’t know where she was. Finally willing to loosen your tongue?”

Jamison shook his head. “He doesn’t know anything, he’s just trying to save his own skin.” Richards nodded in agreement over Ruth’s head.

Barclay dropped his club and hit him across the face barehanded. His head collided with the wall, and he felt the already broken bone in his nose rub unpleasantly. Still, he’d gotten what he wanted. “No,” he gasped, “I was trying to save his.” He looked pointedly over his captor’s shoulder again, and found John leaning on the bed, hand just leaving the call button above the nightstand. 

Barclay abruptly dropped Watts to the floor as Jamison dashed across the room and wrestled John onto the floor again. “We have to go,” the leader announced.  
“But what about him?” Richards questioned incredulously, looking at their target lying on the floor.

Barclay pulled a pistol from his pocket. “We’ll have to do this the faster way.” He cocked the weapon, and Watts shrunk away from it with a slight shake of his head.

There came a yell from John’s side of the room, and the constable’s finger tightened on the trigger.

The shot never came.


	9. Chapter 9

Julia had been on her way to visit Detective Watts when she heard a commotion in the hall up ahead. There were voices coming from the detective’s room – voices she didn’t recognize, and angry ones at that. Alarms ringing in her head, she broke into a run, and what she found when she rounded the corner was anything but what she expected.

Watts was cowering on the floor below a large man in a constable’s uniform, who was pointing a gun at him. Another constable held Ruth Newsome at knifepoint, and by the bed a third man had John Brackenreid pinned on the ground. Julia had no time to think, so she chose the most immediately obvious course of action.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she cried, and instantly drew the attention of every person in the room, whether victim or attacker. The biggest man, the one with the gun drawn on Watts, turned to her with exasperation.

“Not another one,” he muttered, and raised the pistol to fire once more, this time in her direction.

That was all Watts had needed, apparently, because he snatched the man’s nightstick from where it lay on the floor and swung it hard at the back of the man’s knees. The constable stumbled, the gun slipping from his hand as he lost his balance. Watts, wheezing, snatched the weapon and aimed it at the man as Julia turned to assist her nurse.

To her surprise, Ruth seemed not to need the help. She’d somehow used the distraction to free herself from her captor, who she was now soundly beating with one of the chairs. The constable’s knife slid across the floor, forgotten. Julia seized it, and rounded on John’s man, beneath whom the young Brackenreid was still struggling. She lunged, dealing the man a sharp kick in the ribs. John shoved him, hard, and as he wriggled free Julia pressed the advantage and cornered the man against the wall, brandishing the knife. One more kick rendered him unconscious.

She turned to see a concerned nurse appearing at the door, freezing at the sight of the scuffle. Ruth was just managing to subdue her attacker, and a shaky Watts held the burly constable at the point of his pistol. 

“The call button was pushed?” the nurse offered timidly, looking from the knife, to the gun, to the chair. Julia straightened, brushed a hair behind her ear, and nodded almost professionally.

“Please telephone Station House Number 4 and inform them that we have something of a situation at the hospital,” she commanded. The nurse remained still. “Now!” she added, and the young woman nodded quickly and sped off down the hall. Julia rolled her eyes, then paced over to Watts and took the gun from his trembling hand. She brought it down with a crack on the leader’s head, and the last attacker crumpled. Breathing hard, she looked down at Watts, still sitting barely propped up on the floor.

She crouched next to him and began a quick examination to determine if he had suffered any serious further injury. Nurse Sullivan appeared at the door a moment later and rushed to attend to John, and Julia mentally blessed the young woman who had thought to send help as she went to call Station 4. Ruth, across the room, looked down at her unconscious attacker in satisfaction, and then turned to Julia.

“Doctor, it was the most fearsome attack!” she exclaimed, and Julia favored her with a distracted smile.

“Detective, are you hurt?”

Watts groaned as he attempted to prop himself up further. “No more than I was, Doctor, though I fear my existing injuries may be somewhat aggravated by the rough treatment.”

Julia sighed. “I feared as much. I’m just glad I got here when I did! Let’s see if we can get you back to bed.”

Watts nodded with a grunt. “Yes, that would be best.”

With the assistance of both Ruth and Julia, Watts managed to shuffle back to his bed, and as the nurse settled him in Julia turned back to the assailants. Until her husband and help arrived, they’d need to be watched carefully in case they woke up. These men would certainly be needed for the interview room – and she relished the thought. For what they’d attempted to do to Watts, not to mention Nurse Newsome and the young Brackenreid, they might just deserve the inspector’s black glove.

 

•~•

 

By the time Detective Murdoch arrived at Toronto General, the three constables had been piled in a sulking heap in the corner of the hospital room. His wife stood as sentinel with a gun trained on the men, and William allowed himself a smile at the sight. Next to her, Ruth Newsome was staring down the three with an expression that would have been comedic were it not so fearsome. She had no weapon, but was brandishing a partially shattered chair like a club, much to the detective’s amusement. William gestured to the constables accompanying him to apprehend the men, and George gently relieved the doctor of her firearm. The fallen constables were rapidly cuffed.

As the men were arrested, William turned to check on the other victims of the attack. Watts was in his bed, looking rumpled and somewhat shaken, but thankfully very much alive. John sat next to the bed, crutches leaning against the wall nearby. The young man was making soft conversation with the detective in an apparent attempt to distract him from his near demise. William privately lauded him for the effort, and regretfully approached the pair.

“What exactly happened here?” he asked, and John looked up.

“I was visiting the detective when those three men came in. They asked the detective some questions, but when he didn’t answer I think they were going to kill all of us to keep us quiet. I don’t think they anticipated him having company.”

William nodded at the young man’s concise account and glanced at Watts. “Did you know those men? Were they among the ones who kidnapped you?”

The man nodded slowly. “Barclay, Jamison, and Richards. They’re the main thugs of the operation, but there are more where they came from. They did most of the legwork, though.”

Murdoch took in this information. “You named five men involved in your kidnapping, and I assume there are others who you didn’t see. Do you think those who remain would try something like this again?”

Watts looked thoughtful. “They know I’ve talked to you, so they can’t be concerned about word getting out. My guess… is that they want me dead so I won’t be able to testify against them if it comes to that. I’m the only witness who hasn’t been sufficiently paid off. Unless you count Miss Dunley, perhaps, but I’ve no idea where she is. Their own men almost certainly won’t speak, and will most likely be transferred to Station 1’s custody to ensure their silence.”

“Right. So they might try again?”

“There’s no way to know for sure, but they’ve already lost three of their own. They’ll be desperate.”

"And your guess is that Station 1 will commandeer them immediately to control the damage.”

Watts nodded. “It’s within their power, since the constables are theirs.”

“Mm. Well, thank you. I’ll come back if I need to ask anything more specific,” William finished, turning back to his wife.

Julia gave him a rueful smile. “Will my hospital never be safe?” she asked him, and he endeavored to look encouraging.

“You saved Detective Watts’ life today, Julia. You should be proud.”

She shrugged, glancing at her patient. “I never thought that my Hippocratic oath would involve a citizen’s arrest, but I suppose I should have expected it!”

William patted her arm. “You did very well, Doctor. They’re lucky to have you. I doubt anyone else would have been as quick thinking and courageous.”

She laughed. “Well, Nurse Newsome over there made quick work of her assailant with nothing but a chair.”

The detective raised an eyebrow, turning to glance at Ruth, who wears eagerly prattling to George with her account of the incident. The other few Station House 4 men were escorting the assailants out of the room, and the nurse cast them an imperious look as they went by. At this first pause in her monologue, Crabtree politely excused himself and approached his superior.

“Everything’s in order, sir, and Miss Newsome seems quite eager to give an official statement,” he reported, glancing back warily at the woman.

“Surely it’s ‘Mrs.’ now, George?” William asked.

“Hmm?”

“Mrs. Newsome? Or rather, Mrs. Higgins, to be proper.”

“Oh, no, sir, she didn’t take Henry’s name. Too low class, I assume. Henry is a Higgins-Newsome now,” the constable hastened to explain.

“Then Mrs. Higgins-Newsome.”

“Sir, I don’t believe she hyphenated her name. Perhaps Nurse Newsome is the most appropriate title? She can’t truly be Mrs. Newsome, given that she didn’t marry a   
Newsome – that would be quite inappropriate! I should hate to call her Miss Newsome, though, as that implies that she never married at all…”

“George-“

“Perhaps a new term of address ought to be invented for such situations? It would need to be similar to the others, for consistency’s sake, you know…”

“George!”

George finally broke out of his reasoning and looked back at Murdoch, who’s expression was impatient.

“I apologize for raising a topic that caused so much consternation. Now, I need to get back to the Station House, so that I can speak to these men as soon as they arrive. Would you mind standing guard here until we decide the safest course of action?”

The constable nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll make sure Watts is safe, and I’ll get John a carriage back home.”

“Thank you, George. Julia,” he kissed his wife briefly, “I’ll see you at home?”

“Of course. And good luck with your interrogations,” the doctor offered, before turning to give Ruth further direction.

Murdoch nodded to George, replaced his hat on his head, and followed the retreating men out of the hospital with their prisoners. If he wanted to get anything out of these men before Station 1 came calling, he’d need to act fast.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at rainmakesyouwhole!


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